Page 35 of Behind Her Eyes

He drinks a lot; I’m realising that now that I’ve cut back so much. Is he a mean drunk? Is that what happens? I look at him. A fight, a fist, a face.

‘I can’t stay long,’ he says, and then reaches for me, pulling me into his chest. ‘But I had to see you. I keep telling myself to stop,promisingmyself I’ll stop, but I can’t.’

‘You see me all day.’ I’m stiff in his arms. Is that brandy I can smell? A terrible thought strikes me. Does he drink in the office? He kisses the top of my head, and under the booze and the aftershave I catch the scent of him, and I can’t help but like it. I crave it if I’m honest, when I’m alone at night. But if he thinks we’re going straight to bed now, or to bed at all, then he’s wrong. He’s hardly looked at me in days, and now he just breezes in. I pull back and take my drink. Screw him. I look at his hand on his wine glass. Strong. Big. I see the bruise on Adele’s face. For once, I’m going to be the friend she thinks I am.

‘But not like this,’ he says. ‘Not when we can be us.’

‘Us.’ The word sounds dead as I repeat it. ‘There’s hardly an us, is there?’ I lean against the kitchen counter rather than leading him into the sitting room or bedroom like usual. I haven’t spoken to Adam today, and I won’t miss that, not for a cheating-maybe-wife-beating man. I suddenly feel tired. Adam’s home in about a week, so all this craziness is going to have to stop anyway. Maybe it will be a relief.

He frowns slightly, realising my bad mood. ‘Are you okay?’

I shrug. My heart races. I hate conflict. I’m shit at it. I tend to revert to being a sullen, silent teenager rather than spitting out what’s wrong. I gulp my wine and then take a deep breath. Fuck it. This is the only chance I’m going to get to talk about their marriage. This is something I canlegitimatelyknow.

‘Sue told me what happened. With Anthony Hawkins’ parents. What they said?’

‘Thank God that’s cleared up,’ he says. ‘I didn’t need that today.’ He looks at me then, sees my questioning suspicion, and his face falls.

‘Wow, Louise.’

‘What?’ I sound defensive, and I feel it too. Now that he’s here in front of me I feel stupid for half believing he could do that. Even Adele didn’t say that he’d hit her. But there’s so much going on that doesn’t make sense, and I can’t figure any of it out.

‘You seriously don’t think I hit my wife?’

‘I don’t know what I think,’ I say. ‘You never talk about your marriage. Your wife. You’re doingthis,’ I gesture around my pathetic little flat as if he’s fucking it and not me. ‘When it suits you at least. We talk, but you never talk about your marriage. You close down every time I try to ask you anything, and you always seem so fucking unhappy that I can’t understand why you’re still there. Withher. Just get a fucking divorce!’

It’s pouring out of me, all my pent-up confusion and hurt, bubbling in hot rage from my lips. I’ve seen Adele’s bruise. I know how fragile she is. I know about the phone calls. I can say none of these things, however much I want him to explain them to me, so all I can do is bring it back to the mess that is us. The mess he only knows half of.

He’s staring at me as if I’ve stabbed him, but I keep going. ‘I mean, this isn’t exactly fair on her either, is it? What you’re doing?’

‘You really have to ask me if I hit her?’ He cuts through all my bullshit. ‘Do you know me at all?’

I almost laugh at that. ‘Know you? How could I possibly know you? You know me – I’m an open book. You know just about everything about me. We talk aboutme. But you? I don’t know what I’m supposed to make of you.’

‘Of course I didn’t bloody hit her.’ He slumps, the life gone out of him. ‘She says she opened a kitchen cupboard onto her face. I don’t even know if that is true, but I know I didn’t hit her.’

I tingle with a flood of relief. At least they’re both giving me the same explanation.

‘Anthony came to see me on Sunday night,’ he continues, ‘but I was in the shower. He must have seen her face and made up the story to get my attention, or hurt me or whatever.’

Maybe it’s true. It sounds true. And now I feel terrible for doubting him, for doubting her, but what am I supposed to do when there are all these questions trapped inside me? About them, about us, about where all this is going?

‘Why don’t you ever talk to me?’ I ask. ‘Properly talk to me. About your life.’

He stares into his wine glass. ‘I really wouldn’t know where to start,’ he says. ‘And it’s not your business. I don’t want it to be your business. I don’t want to …’ he hesitates, looking for the right word. ‘I don’t want totaintyou with it all.’

‘What does that evenmean?’ I ask. ‘Look, I don’t expect you to leave her for me. I know I’m not important to you—’

‘Not important to me?’ He cuts me off. ‘You’re the only good thing I have. That’swhyI have to be so careful. That’s why I don’t want to talk to you about my marriage or my life. I don’t want any of that to beinsideus.’

He drains his glass, several long mouthfuls. How can anyone drink like that and not want to throw up? Glass after glass, so fast. His self-pity isn’t attractive, but my neediness loves that he thinks I’m important. It makes me feel stronger.

‘Take me out of the picture for a minute,’ I say. ‘You’re obviously unhappy at home. So leave. That’s what my husband did, and it didn’t kill me. It hurt, but I got over it. Life moves on.’And now Ian’s having a baby with my replacement, and I’m like a ghost in my own life.I keep that thought to myself. ‘I don’t see what the problem is.’

‘You can’t possibly see what the problem is. You’d have to know us. Really know us, for that. And I’m not even sure we know each other any more.’ He’s bitter. His words are sharp with it as he stares into his glass. ‘But something has to change,’ he says, eventually. His words slur slightly. ‘But I need to figure out how to do it. To get rid of hersafely.’

‘Maybe talk to her,’ I say, trying to be as loyal as I can to Adele in this completely disloyal moment. ‘She’s your wife. She must love you.’

He laughs then, at first with sudden humour, but then the sound sours. ‘Oh, she loves me. For what that’s worth.’

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